Vino “del nonno” in Calabria

As a follow-up to the vino bianco da Francesco the other day, yesterday I made a more satisfying discovery.

We’re still on holiday in Calabria and our daughter has made firm friends with the 7 year old in the house next door; consequently, we’ve made friends with her parents (who both work in finance) and, to a slightly lesser extent, her grandparents.

It’s been fascinating watching the family because the grandmother in particular lives up to every stereotype of a southern Italian nonna. Whereas we eat lunch at 1pm and dinner at 8pm, theirs is at 2pm and 9pm – even though they have a 2 year old boy! The nonna starts cooking at 8 or 9 o’clock so, as we are eating breakfast, delicious smells drift across to our terrace. “Aubergine/eggplant today,” says my husband as I’m inside fiddling around no doubt with something or other, only to correct himself a few minutes later, “no, she’s making a peperonata.”

It’s not just us watching them; the shady spot where the nonno sits to smoke a cigarette and watch the world go by happens to be directly opposite us. His accent is so thick that some words I can’t even make out but last night, as we were finishing dinner (and, as usual, they were yet to sit down) he calls over to us, “I see you like wine. Can I bring you some to try? My wine.”

“Ma certo, con piacere,” we reply.

This frail man walks slowly over to our terrace with an unlabelled, green bottle of wine and three white plastic cups. He sets the plastic cups on the table, despite us gesturing to the wine glass that we’ve been drinking from during dinner.

“No, no, this is a simple wine; not for a glass like that.” We reach a compromise by suggesting he pours his wine into our water tumblers. (He still chooses to drink out of the plastic cup.)

From previous conversations with the nonno, I knew that he was born the year after WW2 ended, had studied mechanical engineering, worked as a teacher for three years in Sardinia and then became a structural inspector. I asked him, therefore, how he came to make wine. “My father and, before him, my grandfather used to make wine. This wine, I make the same way they did.”

One sip of this wine and I believe him.

This is rustic, genuine, and quite different from Francesco the fishmonger’s commercial construction. It is red in colour, but to the taste, it’s simple, very light bodied, with practically no tannins. I asked what grapes went into the wine, and nonno replies “four” but besides zibbibo, he’s not able to remember the names of them.

He tells us that he used to make 5000 litres of wine per year, on average. But in 2009, because of his fading health, he was forced to pull up a significant part of the vineyards because it was too much effort. Both of his sons had moved away for work and no-one from the area wanted to take over. It’s a trope which is often heard in the south of Italy unfortunately.

Anyway, getting back to the wine. It’s not going to win any competitions; there’s a brett contamination that is just a little too persistent to pass unnoticed, but which, admittedly, is not so present to bother the casual drinker. Actually, it gives an element of spice and moodiness or, to put it another way, complexity.

It’s honest and unpretentious; the kind of wine to accompany a meal and which I would happily drink with food. This is vino da tavola in the best possible sense. A product of the contadino tradition that may soon be lost, unless working the land becomes an honourable and more sustainable career option. Only time will tell how many other wines like this will become dinosaurs on the brink of extinction.